A Rainy Night
by mamblymoo
Summary: After a spell in the Deep Roads, Hawke returns home for some much needed peace and quiet on a rainy night. What she doesn't expect is a visit from her favourite apostate, who has something serious on his mind.


_**Author's Note: **_This is the first Dragon Age fic I've posted here, and the first fic I've posted in a long time. I've got some pretty big stuff coming up, so I'd love to know what people think of my style.

Everything belong to Bioware, obviously.

**A Rainy Night**

In a narrow side street in Kirkwall, Marian Hawke pulled on another sweater to keep out the chills. Her little house was not the warmest of places, especially when she had been away for three days in the Deep Roads. Now the fire was burning brightly again, one of the useful things about being a mage was that you never had to fiddle with flints, and the glow made even the tired, peeling walls seem cheerful. Crossing the room, she opened the door to allow the heat through into the bedroom. The last thing she wanted was to sleep in a cold bed once again. The patter of the rain on her narrow roof made her feel glad she was indoors. Putting water on to boil, she curled up in her chair by the fire, looking into the flames.

She was glad that she had taken up Isabella's offer to use the hot water at the Inn. So often she'd return home tired, aching and dirty, only to have to wait for an hour while the water heated to wash in. At least now she felt clean, even if she was tired and aching. Of course, it would have been easier if she could just return home to Carver and mother, but such things didn't bear thinking about. Then there was the thought that two mages could heat water far quicker than one, and that washing shared was not only economical, but rather pleasant, but that didn't bear thinking about either. She sighed, letting the flames draw in her gaze, and her mind wander.

The water was coming up to a simmer when she heard a noise out in the alley, the distinctive sound of someone kicking a loose crate. Alarm spiking, Marian reached for her staff and stood beside the door.

"Who's there?" she called.

Getting no response she pulled the door open and peered round the frame. The shadowy figure beside her cursed, and sighed.

"Anders?" she said, stepping out into the alley, "What are you doing here?"

Leaning up against the wall, with the rain pouring down on him, Anders stood with his face upturned to the heavens. As she adjusted to the darkness, she could see that his eyes were closed. She reached out to him, putting her hand on his shoulder, feeling the sodden fur of his robes.

He shook his head, letting it drop with a sigh. "If only I knew," he said, unable to look at her, "If only."

She frowned, pushing her rapidly dampening fringe back from her face. "You didn't want to come? Did Vengeance make you?"

"No," he whispered, kicking the toe of his boot against the ground, "No, I wanted to. I wanted to talk to you, but..." he looked up at the murderous sky, "Now that I'm here it feels like the worst idea in the world."

The thunder rumbled above them, and Hawke shivered. "Look, just come inside will you?" she asked, tilting her head so that she caught his eye, "We'll catch our death if you stay out here."

Reluctantly he followed her into the cottage, unbuckling his coat, which Marian took and hung on the back of the door. She pulled off the wet jumper she was wearing and draped it over the back of a chair. The water was boiling, she looked up at him as he shook the water from his hair.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked, "I was just going to make some."

He looked smaller without his coat. She'd never realized it was so bulky. He stood there in his breeches and shirt, and she saw for the first time how narrow his hips were, and how slim his waist. She offered him the chair by the fire with a gesture, and he sat, looking nervously around him.

"This is where you live?" he said quietly, as she poured the water in the pot, "I never thought it would be so small."

She smiled slightly, putting the lid into the top of the pot. "You mean compared with what I'm used to?" she asked, glancing back over her shoulder.

"In all honesty?" he replied, his eyes following her as she crossed the room, fetching a small table from beside the door, "Yes."

She placed the table beside him with the teapot on top, and turned to fetch herself a chair from the dining table. "Mother never forgave me for what happened to Bethany," she said, matter-of-factly, "The last thing I would ever want is to hurt her any more..." she took some cups down from the shelf over the fireplace, "any more than I already have. I live here now, it's for the best." She placed the cups down on the table and sat herself down beside him.

"It's nice," he said, avoiding looking at her, "it suits you I think."

"Thank you," she said, crossing her legs on the chair, "I actually like it a lot. It's quiet here. I like having time to think."

He looked up at her, saw the fire reflected in her eyes. "You think about Bethany, your sister?"

She nodded. "Sometimes," she said quietly, as the fire crackled and snapped, "Sometimes it feels like I can't think about anything else. I miss her so much. Other times I wonder if I've been doing the right things."

He found himself frowning. "You don't regret what you've done, do you?" He asked, his pulse increasing as their eyes connected.

To his surprise she blushed, looking away. "Quite often yes," she said, almost laughing, "as silly as that may sound. I'm not as fearless or as thoughtless as everybody seems to think."

She looked up at him, and was startled by the softness of his gaze. "I never said you were," he said.

She smiled, her breath hitching a little in her throat. "I know you didn't," she said quietly, "You're probably the only one."

His eyes stayed locked with hers too long, the moment stretching out in silence. He flushed slightly, looking away. "Hawke I..."

"It's Marian," she interrupted, pouring the tea, "I hate the way everyone calls me Hawke."

"Marian..." he said slowly, as though savouring it, "It's a beautiful name."

"And yet, somehow," she said, passing him a cup with a strange smile, "so very easy to forget."

He took the cup gingerly, holding it with the tips of his fingers around the rim. "Well I promise I won't," he said, smiling warmly.

She smiled, leaning back into the chair as she inhaled the steam from her cup, one leg dangling. "So, Anders," she said, looking directly at him over the rim of her cup, "why don't you tell me what you were doing outside my house?"

He shifted uneasily, blowing on the surface of his tea. "I came to see you," he said, eventually.

"But you stood outside," she replied, not about to let him avoid the conversation, "In the _rain_."

He sighed, nodding slightly. "I did," he said, putting his cup down on the table, sitting forward in his seat, "I came here with a purpose. I wanted to talk to you, to tell you..." he shifted in his seat, frowning, "But I passed your window, saw you sitting there, contented. What I wanted to say, what I felt I had to tell you, would only spoil that. My desires are selfish," he got to his feet, looking down at her with darkened eyes, "I should just leave you in peace."

He moved forward, but she stood up, placing herself in the way of the door. "You're doing it again," she said, not looking at him

"Doing what?"

She looked up into his eyes, and he could see that she was angry. "Making decisions about what's best for me, making judgements, just like everyone else," she said, shaking her head, "You assume that I _want _to be alone. You assume that I would rather live my life through 'great deeds' and 'mighty words' than as a person," her eyes connected with his, her vulnerability shining through like a light, "I _don't_ want to be alone. I was _not_ content when you saw me."

When she looked at him like that, he knew that fighting her was pointless. He was already lost. "Then what do you want Marian?" he asked, reaching down to take her hand, "Tell me, and I will do... anything in my power to make it yours."

She frowned. "Can't you see?" she asked, stepping closer to him, "Isn't it obvious? I want..." she faltered, looking away.

"Yes?"

He tried to catch her gaze, watched as she drew a deep breath and looked up into his face. "Anders you came here with something to say," she said firmly, "I want to hear you say it. I want you to be honest with me."

She had caught him there. "That isn't what you were going to say," he said, attempting to shirk the question, though they both knew she had come too far to let him back down.

"Tell me," she said, fixing him with her piercing gaze.

He shook his head. "I shouldn't."

"Then you _lied_ to me," she said, dropping his hand.

"I didn't I..." he hesitated, knowing he couldn't fight her off much longer.

"Then _tell _me," she said, her voice tinged with desperation.

He sighed, closing his eyes. "I love you Marian. _That's_ what I came to tell you."

He heard her relieved breath, felt her there, standing so close to him. "I know," she murmured.

He opened his eyes, seeing the peace in her face as he moved to brush past her. "Then you understand why I should never have said it," he said, moving towards the door.

"No," she said, stopping him with a hand on his arm, turning him towards her, "That I don't understand."

Those eyes would be the death of him yet. "I'm an _abomination_, Marian," he said angrily, "One of these days a Templar's going to figure that out and cut off my head, and if you try and stop him, he'll probably cut off yours too." He moved forward, pushing her to one side as he headed to the door.

"I know that Anders," she said, as he reached for his coat, "I'm not a fool. What you fail to understand is that telling me how you feel makes no difference. I love you. I have done for years. I was always going to try to stop them. I would have done even if I didn't feel this way."

He turned back to look at her, his eyes flashing with anger. "But why? Why risk yourself like that?"

She stepped forward, her voice as vehement as his own, "Because it could happen to any of us. Because it deserves to be understood and not simply feared," she moved closer to him, taking his hand again, "Because you're a good person, and I know you'd do anything to take back your mistakes."

He hung his head, unable to look at her. "Please, don't do this," he said quietly, "Don't try and make this alright. I don't deserve it."

Her hand cupped his cheek, tilting his face to look into her own. "You're wrong," she said, looking at him tenderly, "I'm not _trying_ to do anything, I'm just telling you how I feel. I love you Anders, I mean that."

His stomach turned within him. "And I love you," he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.

It was the first time their lips had touched.


End file.
